Ghost in the Mirror

It started small,

a hush beneath the skin,

a whisper in the marrow,

not loud enough to scream

but just enough to stay.

You carry on,

coffee, keys,

a smile stitched neat

for the ones who say

“you look so well.”

But something’s thinning.

The laughter lands with hollow bones,

and the mirror’s eyes

don’t meet your own.

It steals with grace,

not a thief in the night,

but a guest

who lingers too long

and rewrites the house.

Your soul,

once loud in color,

dances now

in grayscale quiet.

Still there,

but tired of fighting

for the room it once owned.

And yet,

there’s a strange, stubborn light

in the corner of your breath,

a flicker that says:

I was here.

I am still.